Essence of Marriage
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Newly married, Lothíriel of Rohan ponders upon the changes in her life, and upon her husband. Part of the Green Leaves Universe. Companion piece to Battle Scars. One-shot. Complete. For Verdua. Please Read and Review! :)


**Essence of Marriage**

 **Disclaimer:** Not one horse… or horselord.

 **Summary:** Newly married, Lothíriel of Rohan ponders upon the change in her life, and upon her husband.

All of my stories are interconnected, except for "Unexpected Force" and "TolkienScribe's Scribblings". You don't need to read one to understand the other. This one is a companion piece to "Battle Scars".

Written for a guest reviewer, who wanted me to elaborate the relationship between Éomer and Lothíriel. I hope this suits your interest and further apologies for any shortcomings, coming from someone who spent too long in the Elven world. :)

Flames not appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Enjoy!

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 _"A great marriage is not when a perfect couple comes together._

 _It's when an imperfect couple learns to enjoy their differences."_

 _(Unknown)_

Her mother often told her that a married life was much different than the one a woman always knew.

And it was true. But Lothíriel never expected to live in an entirely different country as Queen and consort. She never expected to wake up in the morning in a bedroom full of vibrant reds and yellows instead of blues and greys of Dol Amroth. And when she neared the open window in the mornings, she scented the fresh grassy scent of plains blowing into the city instead of the rich salty air of the sea.

She didn't mind the change. In fact she welcomed it. Her dear mother left her many pieces of wisdom before she passed away during the War because of an illness. And her mother always said marriage was a natural way of life. A life companion made it easy, and Lothíriel always secretly wished to start a family of her own.

Rohan, in many standards, wasn't too different from Dol Amroth. There were people here as there were in Dol Amroth. It was certainly _quiet_ in Rohan, in the sense that people didn't covet for latest fashion and scandals. The court was certainly laxer, and no one batted an eyelid if she stalked into the room wearing a fitted pair of trousers and a mid-thigh shirt. At Dol Amroth, she wouldn't have dared. Noblewomen rode side-saddle in Gondor. In Rohan, she had the luxury of riding astride.

The language was difficult for her to learn. There were many words used in Rohan that translated into a single word in the Common Tongue. She soon realised that the Rohirrim spoke a language that was more extended and vast than anything she had ever seen. They had many words to describe the beauty of dawn, and the variety of shades and colours, and emotions. She usually lost her way among them, but her husband along with other friends she made were more than happy to help her.

Most of her wardrobe consisted of Gondorian style, but it grew less severe and more practical as the months passed by. She found her role as a Queen to be more than a decorative jewel in the King's court. She made herself useful wherever she could, in the Golden Hall and within the city. She made friends from all ranks, whether they were noblewomen, guards' wives, seamstresses, servant-girls or cooks. She enjoyed their company, and to her delight, they enjoyed hers. Her life in Rohan grew more settled.

As for her husband, it was a different matter entirely. Her mother often said that men were much different during courtship and directly after marriage from the husband for all life. And it was indeed true. What she saw during the brief moments of courting was bare glimpses of a man. At first she thought he was guarded and stoic, until she found out through gossip he was taken by her beauty and he heard of her intelligence. She wasn't the kind to be easily impressed, so she waved the rumours away. But during some direct interactions, she realised, while he was straightforward he was also very sincere at heart.

She wasn't sure when they leaned towards the idea of marriage. It was a suggestion at first that quickly turned into a proposal, then a betrothal, then a wedding. Her wedding passed like a happy dream that she floated through, one that seemed intangible and yet she remembered every detail of her wedding and the morning after.

Her husband was handsome. Of that there was no doubt. He had noble features, with air of maturity that came to a soldier from the harsh life he lived. He was honest and blunt, but not rude. He didn't care for frivolities (and he usually forgot all important events that only Éothain made sure he remembered and brought something at the last moment). But he had good qualities. He was kind and attentive when work didn't tear him away from her.

Young. He was too young to be a king, or so the people said. But he always seemed to possess a greater mind-set than most of his age. Éothain often told her that it was the hardships that brought Éomer wisdom and experience. But if there was one flaw she always noted in him, it was his opinion that all hardships were his own to bear. He barely spoke to her of his worries and fears. Instead he tried to solve them on his own. It proved frustrating for Lothíriel, who grew tired of gently coaxing and probing him to speak his mind. What was her role, then, if she could not help him shoulder his responsibilities not only as his life partner but as his equal?

Besides his kingly duties, he bore the nightmares that plagued him at night with the same tight-lipped way as always. She woke too often to the sounds of his grunts and snarls as he fought some unseen opponent wedged deep inside his mind. She never touched him or approached him in his nightmares. She knew how a soldier's instincts of survival were honed into him from the dangerous environment he lived in. She was well aware of the dagger under her husband's pillow and the weapons-stand within the bed's reach. She often either waited him to awaken himself, or called out to him if she thought he'd hear her. When he woke, he assured her before turning his back towards her. But she knew he never slept and sometimes quietly left to his study. Only once, he spoke to her of his nightmares at length. That was before their marriage, during a journey.

It took nearly a few months for Éomer to call her for decisions on the kingdom, and the majority of two years for him to finally discuss his nightmares with her. And she suspected the work of his friends behind it that finally convinced Éomer he truly didn't need to protect her.

Did she lose herself in her marriage? She didn't think so. She certainly grew in a different way. Her mind was more mature than before. She had a life to live, errands to run, duties to fulfil. Éomer wasn't a controlling man. Her hobbies remained much the same, containing short writings and embroidery. His love for horses grew on her, until she found that she frequented the stables more than she ever had in her life in Dol Amroth. Her hair grew longer until it fell barely above her knees and she kept it in a single, practical braid most of the time during the day. She found her husband an entertaining companion when they wanted to do nothing but sit together outside on a couch facing the rising moon and stars. He shared his stories of his old life as a soldier, and she supplied him with her own stories of Gondorian court.

She and Éomer had their fair share of squabbles. In the beginning it consisted of petty arguments on the arrangements of their bedroom and the Hall. Éomer was stubborn to keep things the way they were and Lothíriel was insistent things were ready to change. She didn't try to be _too_ insistent. Men were, after all, just men. Things tended to get through their thick skulls with difficulty when it came to matters that were better off handled with women. Eventually, Éomer conceded that he truly didn't need to play the role of two and left her peacefully to her tasks as he went to his own kingly ones.

The first worst fight that Lothíriel had with her husband was when she was homesick after majority of their second year as a couple passed. Éomer was offhanded and gruff when he ordered the staff to attend to her things for the journey, and it was a fact that hurt her very much. He also grew more aloof. Unsure who to confide it, she turned to a visiting Elf who acted like an ambassador on Legolas' behalf. He went by the name of Dorián, and was a close childhood friend of Legolas. He listened to her brief account and her worry before laughing and soothingly patting her hand.

"He is sulking," the Elf comforted her. "You must understand, my lady. It hurts to see your spouse leave. Remember what you felt when he left for a skirmish! He feels much the same way, except he hasn't spoken it outright. We males usually aren't the kind to speak of our feelings."

"This comes from an Elf whose kind only marries for once and for eternity. I doubt your kind even fights with their spouses." Lothíriel remarked. Dorián wasn't offended. Instead he laughed again.

"My lady, all couples fight. And I assure you," he added with a meaningful wink. "Reconciling after a fight is always interesting."

It took Lothíriel a moment to understand what Dorián meant, and by that time the Elf was already on his way, whistling as he went.

Her worries about her husband disappeared when she finally found herself at the doorstep of her palace; where her father raced down to meet her. It was then she realised how much she truly missed her father. Imrahil aged rapidly after the War and she found new lines of care around his eyes and lips and over his forehead. There were wisps of white hair covering his temples and she touched them lightly when they pulled apart from an embrace. But Imrahil was still strong, enough to lift her in the air and twirl her about in joy. She met her brothers after and they met her with the same enthusiasm as her father showed her.

That first visit to her old home was one she never forgot. She found she remembered everything perfectly and many things didn't change in the time she was away. She visited her old haunts, and spoke to her old friends and servants. All of it was so familiar and yet so strange. Her room was much different, barer than when she left it. Her friends and servants treated her with renewed reverence because of her higher title. It surprised and frustrated her in the beginning and when she complained of it to her father, her father only smiled gently at her.

"Time passes while you were away. You spent another life in Rohan, and life in Dol Amroth moved on in your absence."

And it was true. She found her brothers much different than she saw them last. The frequent letters they exchanged were poor examples of how much they changed. Concerning the people she knew, she needed to reacquaint them again. And so she started with her father and brothers, and then her aunt. Her life grew busy and revolved around the court.

She remembered one particular night, when her brothers' wives retired early from a feast and invited her to come with them. They filled a small parlour which soon filled with their happy conversation and flittering laughter. The profuse amount of complaints she heard from the other wives (how Amrothos never bothered to keep his clothes up and instead threw them on the floor and how Erchirion refused to eat a particular dish only to ask for it barely half an hour later), left Lothíriel crying with laughter. She never realised how much other wives 'suffered' their men's antics.

"And in the end, we love them as if they were a part of our hearts," one of them announced before throwing a wink at Lothíriel.

It was no secret that men were different from women as they were different amongst themselves. Each had their own flaws as wives had their own. Some of these flaws were the kind of shortcomings to make one jar their teeth. The key, as Erchirion's wife told Lothíriel, was tolerance. It was a beautiful relationship, though a little fragile in the beginning.

"It takes years to understand one another," she told Lothíriel in the sagely tone of a woman who remained longer in marriage. "I would say five years, at least. The reason why it never took so long with parents and siblings is because they knew you for your entire life. A husband is a different matter entirely."

"With so much advice, I only wonder if my husband is receiving the same matter in my absence," Lothíriel returned in good humour. But she was surprised to hear the overwhelming response that agreed with her.

"Oh, there isn't any doubt. Men insist only women gossip, but they are no better. He will obviously be gathering some useful tips from his married friends. In fact, pray that he does!"

And it was Erchirion's wife who leaned forward and took Lothíriel's hand in her warm, ivory ones.

"And above all, respect your husband. Remember that most men are the stubborn kind. There is always something which they will refuse even if it is against all logic. Don't fight him at every difference of opinion. Sometimes it is better to save the marriage than to prove you were right and he was in the wrong. Bend sometimes, but not always. Good husbands like their women strong and independent, as long as they respect them."

When she returned to Edoras, happy and content from seeing her family, she found Éomer anxiously waiting for her. He greeted her as if nothing happened, and was so attentive that she felt love well up in her heart in answer. Whatever followed was a precious secret between husband and wife, but she found that Dorián's words were indeed true; fights kept it interesting.

As months passed by, she found slowly and steadily more of her husband's likes and dislikes. She remembered his favourite foods and dishes, noted how he leaned towards a specific colour without realisation, observed his small gestures that he made unknowingly that Lothíriel could only define as being a part of him. His sense of humour was like the rest of his personality; honest, straightforward but not spiteful. She found she began to take on some of his habits as he took some of hers.

"It happens," Éothain's wife told her. "It's how a healthy relationship is. These are merely the habits you noticed. There are many more that you take from your spouse and you never understand how you got them."

It was nearly three years of marriage, with already an heir to the throne and happy marriage as it could be. There were many uncharted waters for both of them to navigate through.

And Lothíriel was certain they'd find their way.

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 **Author's Note:**

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when your brain is too fried to edit the chapters you already wrote down and instead the muse decides to work on another project entirely. Not that I minded. :P

I looked for the author of the quote but I couldn't find him/her. If you know who it is, I'd appreciate it!

I am not usually the kind to indulge in the world of Men and this is my first attempt to solely focus on Lothíriel and Éomer. The idea was to show a realistic relationship, and show the true face of marriage which contains all walks of life, excluding the most obvious; intimacy. I am not the kind to write that part, as my old readers are well aware, so excuse me for it. :P

This is complete, but I might expand it in the future if I have the confidence to try my hand in Lothíriel and Éomer.

 **Do leave a review!**


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